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THE GREAT JAWGA DEER HUNT

 

 

 

Well folks, here is the long awaited "true" story of the Great Georgia Gun Hunt (so named by JR).

 

 

I pulled out from home Saturday morning at about 8:00 AM give or take a few minutes heading south and somewhat east on US Hwy. 431. Four hours and 20 minutes later after a long stop at the Wal-Mart in Columbus, GA to get the appropriate deer hunting license I pulled into camp to be greeted by Rick but no JR.  JR had indicated he would be there no later than 2:00 PM local time so there would be time to go to the nearby shooting range for sight-in of his rifles. After a long wait by Rick and me, JR finally arrived with a tale of drawing first blood when he and a woman both ran over a deer on the interstate highway. He showed us a broken parking light lens as proof of the deer kill and paint on his front bumper as proof the lady had also run over his truck in the process.

 

We then proceeded to the range where JR sighted in his .270 Winchester and .30-30 rifles and offered his assistance and advice to a gentleman and his son who were trying in vain to sight-in a rifle. I checked the zero of my TCs and the Raging Bull and Rick fired his guns also. We then adjourned back to camp for some chow and BS around the campfire that evening in preparation for the beginning of the hunt on Sunday morning.

 

On Sunday morning Rick roused us out of bed at 5:00 AM. Since the old Graybearded one operates very slowly in the morning and requires more time than most to get moving; Rick took JR to his Frog Bottom Creek stand first (even if JR’s memory of the events is a bit clouded and he thinks he went elsewere).  He then came back to take me to a stand owned by camp president George Helms. My stand was an old climbing stand that had been semi permanently mounted over looking a couple ridges and a flat. The location looked good and had lots of squirrel activity and more. While sitting there for the morning I first heard some turkeys walking around and a pair of longbeards fed around out in front of me without knowing I was there for maybe 20 minutes before leaving the area completely. Next I heard a sound on the ridge above me and to my right that became a small racked buck. When I first saw him on the ridge most of his head was hidden to me so I wasn't able to positively identify him as a legal buck. The second time he moved I finally got a good look at the head and saw antlers for certain after thinking I had on his first move. I then put down the binoculars and readied the 7-30 Waters TC. His next

action was to run away down the hill and across the flats but a scoped TC isn't the tool for running shots even when the deer is only 50-60 yards away so he left without a shot fired. By mid day I called it a morning and headed back up the steep ridge to my Bronco.  After several stops to huff and puff and rest I reached the top and walked to the truck and returned to camp for brunch. Rick was in camp and busy as a beaver. Rick our host is a compulsive workaholic and finds it nearly impossible to just relax. He was in a constant state of motion in camp doing this chore or that. He busied himself trying to get the shower in the camper to work and repairing the roof on George and Beverly's camper which had collapsed on one end when water pocketed in the tarp over it and crushed the roof under its weight. I have also noticed in my two visits to the camp with Rick that he is always the first to volunteer to help when things go wrong. He unselfishly gives of his time to help everyone in the club to find good stand locations, take their stands to the sites and get them setup, fix broken things and in general do anything and everything he can to make life easy for others. Rick is one fine gentleman in the truest sense of the word.

 

Rick fixed us a fine breakfast and in due time JR showed up with his tale of the morning and all the monster bucks and plentiful does he encountered in Frog Bottom. I'll refrain from telling his tale for him and let JR give all the juicy details of his morning adventure.

<<Or had planned it that way but it seems his mind is clouded from either (a) old age, (b) Scotch Whiskey (c) GRITS or (d) all of the above. You take your pick. >>

 

This first day sort of set the pace for the trip. The first few nights were cool to almost but not quite cold and the days warmed up to the point of being too warm for real hunting. I stayed in camp each afternoon and left the afternoon hunting to JR and most days Rick also went out. Being a closet "pyromaniac" I took it upon myself to get the campfire going and keep it roaring during the evenings consuming prodigious quantities of Rick's firewood pile in the process. We had to go out and renew the pile about 3 times I believe it was during the week’s stay. 

 

Rick fed us like kings while we were there and I'm sure this old fat boy must have added some extra pounds during the visit. His first evening meal of steaks and baked potatoes with salad was followed by other absolutely great meals like the pork ribs that just melted in your mouth and made us all eat until we could hold no more. The pork chops topped even that meal. Rick did pull a fast one or two on me with a couple of dishes and one had me spending more time than normal at the back woods facility one day but was nothing a dose of Immodium couldn't cure. Our last evening in camp Rick smoked a pork shoulder in the home made smoker over hardwood coals. We were joined by camp president George and his lovely wife Beverly as well as another club member Mark who sat with Rick and I long after George and Bev had gone to there camper.  JR had left earlier in the evening and wasn't there for the last night in camp.

 

Our evenings around the campfire were some of the most enjoyable times to be had as the

stories flowed freely and so long as you were able to get the feet up onto a convenient table or something you could still use the same boots the next day but the BS did flow freely. Some of the more memorable events of these evenings were the visit by a gray fox that walked just at the edge of the light from the campfire and lanterns as if we weren't even there. Even when Rick illuminated him with a small flashlight he just ignored us and went on with his business of looking for food. One night as we sat around the fire telling tales JR got up and walked off in the general direction of the camper and a bit later we heard a sound Rick and I couldn't positively identify. I first thought it was JR coughing and carrying on as he had howled at the moon and made tarzan sounds a time or three before. The sound persisted and sounded like it maybe wasn't being faked so Rick got up and walked to the edge of the logging road and called to JR to ask if he was OK.  JR answered from his truck near the camper and the sound wasn't him but some critter in the woods near the outdoor facility. Rick shined a light and yellow eyes peered back at him from the darkness. The critter immediately turned its head away and went down over the bluff of the ravine there and disappeared from view. We tossed around possibilities as to what the critter was. Rick first thought maybe it was a coon but I disagreed as I didn't think a coon could make the volume of whatever we heard and the sounds just weren't right. We tossed out the idea of a coyote which are prevalent in the area and it could indeed have been I guess and if it had gotten one of the bones we had thrown out from the ribs or pork chops caught in its throat that would have seemed likely. We also considered the possibility of a Florida Panther as we weren't far from their

stomping grounds and we had been seeing cat tracks in the roads that were about 3.5" square and that seems way too big for the bobcats in the area. We got the lights and looked around but never identified the critter and so it remains a mystery. Another night, JR was in fine form spinning a yarn of derring do, and telling another club member named Paul of the day's events. Rick heard a rattlesnake at the edge of the wood pile just a few feet from JR. Rick and I got out the revolvers loaded with snake shot and the flashlights. I tried to spook it out of the woodpile for us to shoot but we weren't able to locate it and concluded it had either slithered off while we were getting the lights and guns or that it had gone into hiding in the wood pile and wasn't coming out. For some reason after that JR and Paul seemed to drift away from the campfire and head for the campers so that ended out campfire tales for that day. Now ole JR claims he don’t believe there was any rattlesnake in the first place. But, he sure did drift away from there and head for bed might soon afterward. As, JR is so prone to say, ummm.

 

Back to hunting tales. On Monday morning, the second day of our hunt I was in my climbing stand with a patch of thick pine growth to my rear and hardwoods with lots of white oaks dropping acorns to the front. A series of deep erosion ravines were in front of me that tended to funnel the deer movement my way. This was a spot on the way to the stand where Robby (Rick's son) had spotted several does and what he thought was a buck following them on Saturday morning. I climbed up in the darkness and readied myself for the wait. At around 8:15 AM I heard and then saw movement out in front of me that became a deer. I carefully glassed the deer with my binoculars and it became a yearling spike which walked to a broadside position out in front of me. I eased the Raging Bull out of the holster tied to the stand and drew first blood of the hunt with a double lung shot close in behind the shoulder. The buck ran forward a bit then turned to his left running under me not more than 10 feet from the tree I was in. I saw the crimson stain on his chest and with held fire knowing the shot would be quickly fatal. He fell and died about 35 yards behind my stand. I waited an hour before getting down as in Georgia it is legal to use all your tags the same day if the opportunity is presented. I hoped a larger buck might come along but after an hour I got down. I first walked to where the buck had stood and found pieces of lung tissue and blood. I stepped off 29 long paces back to the base of the tree I was in and then walked backed to where I had heard him fall and recovered him. I took my pack back to the Bronco and just as I arrived there JR drove up and went down into the woods with me to assist in bringing the deer up the hill and back to camp.

 

 Note: Nope I hadn’t asked JR for help on the radio earlier but had told him I had one down and was going to wait awhile to see if a bigger one might come along.  His timely arrival and offer of help dragging the buck the 100 yards or so up the hill to the truck was most appreciated however.

 

I hunted other stands and also went back to this one again. I saw other bucks and one

that because of the thick brush I just couldn't make out the head on. I had other opportunities to fill the remaining buck tag but seeing no wall hanger size racks I let the rest walk to grow older and bigger for another day.  Tuesday morning found me in club member Randy’s stand near an old well at the site of an old home place. It was the most comfortable stand I sat all week. Randy has a store bought metal stand that leans against the tree and was affixed with a strap to the tree. The seat is very much like a lawn chair with webbing for seat and back. I liked that stand and its location. I did see one deer but in the thick cover wasn’t able to identify it. Wednesday morning found me back at my climbing stand at the same location where I had taken the spike buck on Monday. The wind was wrong on me and I didn’t stay long before heading back to camp. On Friday I again hunted near one of Randy’s stands. This stand was a really uncomfortable looking one with a boat seat attached but I sat on the ground nearby. Again I saw a young small racked buck but he wasn’t what I was looking for so I let him walk.

 

Thursday was taken off from hunting. Rick had told JR that the site of the Andersonville Prisoner of War Camp, Cemetery and POW Memorial was nearby and JR felt that being so near to it he must visit. We all went and spent the day there. It was a moving experience to say the least.

 

Saturday morning came and with it the opening of doe season. For some reason the alarm failed to either sound off or to awake us one or the other. As a result it was 7:00 AM rather than the usual 5:00 AM when we awoke and hurried off to the woods to our stands. Many of the club members were in camp for that day and we were the last to hit the woods. The day was really warm and only a t-shirt was needed. The deer just weren't moving and few were seen by anyone and none were taken. Even the hunters on the surrounding leases weren't shooting. The weather had just warmed too much and deer movement had slowed to a near halt. I told Rick I had decided my hunt was over and again as in previous days stayed in camp in the afternoon heat. Rick again took JR out to a stand and dropped him off but about an hour later JR returned and told us his hunt too was over. Since this weekend was his anniversary he packed his bags and departed for home missing that last night around the campfire.

 

The hogs we had hoped to hunt were just not there. The woods on Rick's lease were just too dry to bring them in for this hunt. I think that's why it's called "hunting". Sometimes it works like you plan it and sometimes it doesn't.

 

Good times were had by all and the food was just outstanding. Rick and camp president George were both gracious hosts and I want to again thank both for having me in camp. It was a wonderful experience in the woods of the ‘deep south’ and I'll carry the memories of it with me forever. Photos from the visit have been posted and may be accessed via the link on this page.

 

Rick and JR’s versions of the story are also posted here on the Campfire Tales. You’ll have to forgive JR for not remembering the “real details” of the hunt. He is an old (real old) Marine and no doubt got hit on the head lots of times. As a result he is just a bit senile but harmless. You now have the official "true" version from Graybeard and ya'll will just have to ask questions and poke around to learn more details as the other’s versions differ from “the way it wuz as told by the old Graybeard.”

 

Graybeard